


Shame 'Bout That

by cowboykylux



Series: Blue Moon 'Verse [5]
Category: Burn This - Wilson
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drug Use, F/M, Hand Jobs, Possessive Behavior, Public Hand Jobs, Public Nudity, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25613668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: Pale's wound up, and in the dark corner of a seedy club, you're the only thing that can bring him back down.
Relationships: Pale (Burn This)/Reader, Pale (Burn This)/You
Series: Blue Moon 'Verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1491260
Kudos: 17





	Shame 'Bout That

There was some kinda scuffle or some shit, with the parking. Pale had told you to go on ahead, get yourself a nice cozy booth somewhere in the back, somewhere dark. 

This particular club was one he went to all the time, knew the owners and shit and so _why the fuck_ was there a fuckin’ parking issue? God damned car was more trouble than it was worth, Pale thinks as he shakes his head and adjusts his jacket on his shoulders when he’s finally free to search for you.

He finds you, sitting so pretty in a new dress he bought you. It’s form-fitting and completely covered in sequins, so you look like a million fuckin’ bucks, sipping your drink and waiting for him. He’s pleased to see you’re alone, no assholes trying to move in on you or nothin’.

He’s sweatin’, Pale is. Sweatin’ because of you, the leather jacket in May, or the club, or the coke, he don’t know. He don’t know but he’s rubbin’ his palms against the back pockets of his jeans as his steel-toed boots carry him all the way to you.

You brighten up immediately, when you see him. You’d been puttin’ on your _don’t fuck with me_ face, and he’s proud of that, proud of you for knowing how to hold your own.

“You look dynamite baby, real fuckin’ good. You oughta be under lights like these all the time, you know that? Someone oughta carry ‘em around for you, make you look like a fuckin’ superstar. Is that what you are dollface, a superstar? My good girl?” Pale’s a chatter-box as he slides into the booth with you, immediately pulls you into his lap.

You lean into his embrace, pillow your head on his shoulder, kiss at his neck. You’re wearing a flattering red lipstick, and he knows it’s gotta be pressin’ lil smooch marks all over his throat, but he don’t give a shit. Good, he thinks, good, let them all see just who it is you’re kissing.

“You bet honey, let me prove it to you.” You smile against his skin, around his adam’s apple as it bobs, as he goes all jittery all over.

“Oh yeah, how so?” He lights up a cigarette, the nicotine fighting the coke fighting the presence of you.

He’s raging hard, he realizes, raging hard and he only realizes it once you start wiggling your hips on his cock, your ass so sweet as he grinds his cock up against it.

“Feels like you got a problem, let me take care of it for you.” You say, still kissin’ on him, lovin’ on him. God fuckin’ damn does he love you, loves you too much, he feels like he can’t even fit the half of it in the whole wide world.

“Lemme see your tits, now.” He licks his lips, hands already reachin’ for the little zipper in the dress.

That’s the thing that made him want to buy it for you, you know. The zipper in the front instead of in the back. He could unzip it all the fuckin’ way down, have you sitting naked in his lap if that was somethin’ you’d let him do. You ain’t wearin’ no bra or panties or nothin’, he knows, he knows because he’s the sonofabitch who told you to keep them on the floor when he fucked you hard before bringing you to the club in the first place.

“Is anyone gonna see?” You say, pulling down the zipper slow slow slow. 

“I’ll shoot ‘em between the fuckin’ eyes if they take so much as a look at you sweetheart you know you’re alright with me, you’re safe with me. Let me see them.” He’s jumpy, sweaty, itchy, god he’s on fire for you cock aching heart beating eyes shaking in his skull.

You look over your shoulder anyway, even though you know he’s right, you know. He’s got a little gun he keeps on him, a little thing that could fit into his pocket, and it does, and he has it. He’d use it for you, you know. You love him, smile when he gets his paws all over your tits when you pull the zipper of the dress down enough.

“Give them a kiss, they’re cold.” You grin, as the music of the club thumps in your chest, rattles your bones.

“Oh I’ll warm you up alright.” He squeezes them together and rubs his face into the soft skin.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the smallest little fuckin’ vial ever known to mankind, tips out only a spec or two or twenty of coke right there, right onto the flesh of your breasts, and snorts it up. He licks up any residue, leans back in his chair and feels alive, feels electrified.

Straddling his lap, you raise yourself enough so that you can reach down between his legs and fish for his cock, his dark jeans chafing your inner thighs as you start jerking him off. His head tips back against the booth, and he gives himself over to the feeling of your hand on him, everything going chromacolor as the coke hits.

God he loves you, loves the way you look like this – loves the way you look always. You with your tits out in this seedy corner of this grungy club, jerkin’ him off while guys make mob boss business deals a table or two away, while singers croon on a stage up front. There’s people dancin’ and talkin’ and drinkin’ and fuckin’ and he wants to be one of them, but he can’t do what he wants to do to you, not here.

Your grip loosens for a second, and he peeks an eye open, gives you a million-dollar smile and cups your cheek, feels your pretty skin.

“Did I say you could stop?” He asks, halfway serious.

You roll your eyes, and he pinches your jaw between his thumb and sticks it in your mouth. You suck on it, and your tits jiggle as your arms work to get him off. He’s gonna treat you so fucking good when he gets you home after this fuckin’ concert or whatever the hell he’s here for. He doesn’t even remember anymore, can’t be bothered to remember anything other than you.

“You didn’t say nothin’ honey, you don’t gotta, I’m right here.” You say around his thumb, sucking on it and biting at it lightly as he runs it over your teeth.

“When we get home I’m cuffing you to the bed and going down on you all night until my jaw is sore.” He says, and you laugh, because that’s exactly the sort of thing you were hopin’ to hear.

“Do you promise?” You bat your lashes.

“How’s that?” Pale’s brain doesn’t quite catch up because _fuck_ your hands are so good on him and the way you grip his cock is so much better than anyone else he’s ever had including his own goddamned hand, so, “Yeah sweetheart I promise, I fuckin’ swear, I swear to ya if you keep going I’ll keep you in bed all fuckin’ weekend, you ain’t getting out unless I say so, you got that? I’m gonna make you scream so hoarse you won’t even remember your own fuckin’ name, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds real good honey, you gonna come?” You ask but he can’t think of nothin’ other than your tits, he wants to come all over them, he wants – fuck he wants everything.

In the end, he makes a split-second decision and takes his cock from you, pats his lap. You’re good, you know what that means, he’s done it enough times for you to get the hint, and he could weep like the way his dick is drippin’ for you because of it.

“Get your mouth ready sweetheart I’ve been savin’ this shit up for you all fuckin’ day.” He’s grunting as he fucks his fist, hand moving so fast it’s a blur – is that the coke, or is that you? He don’t know which fuckin’ drug is stronger.

He’d bet it was you, the thought of your pussy, that’s got him so fucked up like this – fucked up in the best possible way.

And you do, got him fucked up. You got him fucked up with the way you slip underneath the table of the booth, your head peekin’ out between his thighs as he jerks off. Somewhere under there you zip your dress back up, and he thinks that’s a real fuckin’ shame.

But then he’s comin’, and your tongue is there to catch it, and you close your eyes so’s you don’t get nothin’ in them, and he thinks there ain’t nothing that’s a shame about that.


End file.
